On my first ride, I marvelled at the sleek, white carriages, the spotless interiors, the warmth of the service staff, and above all, the smoothness and comfort of the journey.

This is the way to travel! This is the face of progress! The United States (where I have been working since mid-2009) should get its act together and build its own high-speed rail network, I remember telling myself as I snapped a picture of the monitor in the cabin showing the train’s speed hitting 300km/h.

Then last Saturday night, two high-speed trains near Wenzhou city in Zhejiang province collided, killing at least 35 passengers and injuring over 200. The crash took place several hours before my own scheduled train journey from Shanghai to Nanjing.

Family and friends who had caught the breaking news were a little concerned, sending emails and phone messages to ask if I was affected. I felt no trepidation as I made my way to the bustling Shanghai railway station. There, I detected no concern or talk of the accident among the hordes of commuters waiting for their trains. The waiting halls were packed as usual with people and their belongings taking up most of the seats.

My 11/2 hour journey was uneventful, except for a grandmother trying to rein in her boisterous twin grandsons and a peckish passenger across the aisle littering the ground with sunflower seed hulls.

My confidence in the safety and efficiency of China’s high speed rail system, however, has been a little shaken in the days following Saturday’s tragic accident.

China’s Railway Ministry has been less than forthright about what caused the crash, offering only vague responses to reporters seeking details. Local news outlets have received orders from propaganda officials to give the accident a wide berth, according to foreign media reports.

But what left me most incredulous was news that officials had ordered the damaged train carriages buried - barely 35hours following the accident.

Surely officials could not have completed a thorough and detailed investigation into the causes of the crash in such a short time, could they?  This was either a new record for efficiency or a blatant cover-up.

In the absence of straight answers from railway officials, one should not jump to conclusions but the outrage among Chinese netizens speaks volumes.

It is unsettling to think that thousands of commuters, myself included, could be travelling on high-speed trains that may be lacking some of the required emergency safety mechanisms. This thought begets other disconcerting questions about China’s high-speed rail network including official claims about its technology, quality and adherence to standards.

Most of all, the recent crash and myriad other problems plaguing the network once again underscore the need to change a political culture in which high officials push for "status projects" despite the risks and costs, and the accompanying tendency to obfuscate and withhold important information from the public, especially when a politically-damaging event occurs.

No matter how many officials Beijing sacks, or how quickly top leaders rush to the scene, the official response to the Wenzhou crash has only further sullied the image of the Chinese Communist Party at home, and at a particularly sensitive time before next year’s major leadership change.

Abroad, it will reinforce the opinion that China’s fast and seemingly unstoppable development rests on shaky foundations - that behind a façade of much-vaunted progress lie corruption, greed, lax enforcement, a weak adherence to standards, and worst of all, a disregard for human life.

Despite my recent misgivings, I still generally consider high-speed rail in China a safe, convenient and relatively more environmentally-friendly way to travel.

I can only hope as I board another fast train in the coming days that Chinese officials will learn from this incident and that they, as the country hurtles forward on its development path, not fall further prey to hubris - the pride that goes before the fall.

(Tracy Quek is currently on study leave. She is a Masters of International Public Policy (China Studies) candidate at the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies in Washington DC)

I FIRST watched him on television years ago, and immediately liked what I saw.

A cheeky, baby-faced Brit with rosy cheeks and ruby lips prancing around his kitchen, energetically whacking slabs of meat and pounding garlic cloves as he whipped up quick, 'pukka' meals.

And now, I was cooking in Jamie Oliver's kitchen. Well, at least the kitchen that the British celebrity chef set up in Huntington last year to show residents that cooking up a fresh nutritious meal was a cinch not a chore.

His efforts to wean overweight locals off processed and fast foods were captured in a six-part reality television series called Food Revolution, which debuted on March 26 on ABC.

Quite a bit of the action happened in Jamie's Kitchen.

It was where the chef conducted free cooking demonstrations, spread his healthy eating message, and where hundreds dropped in to learn how to chop, season and stir-fry.

After filming wrapped up and Jamie left in April, the facility was renamed Huntington's Kitchen and is now run by a local non-profit organisation, Ebenezer Medical Outreach.

I decided to put his recipes to the test and signed up for a class. On the menu: Jamie's chicken fajitas.

-- ST PHOTO: TRACY QUEK

The Kitchen has four gas-powered cooking stations for student use. Other than myself, three other women were also taking the class that day.

First we gathered around the main station to watch culinary student Joe Crokett, 24 - one of the Kitchen's two full-time staffers along with manager Jill Moore, 28 - do a demonstration.

Even for a novice in the kitchen like myself, the recipe seemed simple enough.

It involved slicking half a green pepper, half a red onion, and cutting a skinless chicken breast into thin strips. Joe threw the ingredients in a bowl and added olive oil, ground cumin, paprika, pepper and salt, and a dash of lime juice. Everything went into a hot wok.

We returned to our stations to try it out while Joe and other Kitchen volunteers stood nearby, ready to assist.

After a few minutes of stir-frying came the taste test. We piled the chicken and vegetable mixture onto a flour tortilla, grated cheddar cheese over, added a dollop of sour cream and tucked in.

The verdict from all four students: lovely jubbly! As Jamie would say.

My classmates seemed like naturals at the stove but I learned later that that is not always the case.

'There are people who have come in who don't know how to crack an egg, or who have never touched raw chicken meat in their lives,' said volunteer Becky Yewchuk, 29.

'There was this very well-groomed lady who just froze in front of the stove. She didn't know the first thing to do,' she recalled.

Her anecdotes drove home what I had been hearing from people in Huntington about how cooking meals from scratch is a dying tradition and one factor that has led to the prevalence of obesity here.

'We hope to bring cooking back into fashion by showing people how easy, rewarding and healthier it is,' said manager Jill Moore.

Since the Kitchen opened in February after renovations, almost 100 adults and children have signed up for classes based on Jamie's recipes.

Adults can register for 10 classes over 10 weeks, each session lasting about an hour. Children aged between five and 15, accompanied by their parents, are offered five classes over five weeks.

Recipes taught all come from Jamie’s cookbooks. Meat and fish dishes include 'Spanish-style grilled steak', and 'Quick Salmon Tikka with Cucumber Yoghurt'. Vegetable dishes such as 'dressed asparagus' and 'buttered spinach' are also demonstrated.

A donation of US$10 a class is recommended. The Kitchen provides all the ingredients, equipment and even offers fresh local produce for sale on Thursdays.

Students often leave with leftovers of their dishes in doggy bags, but that day, I didn't need one.

What I did take with me were recipe cards and an appetite for trying them out in my own kitchen.

Read more on the Saturday Special here.

However, when you're sharing a small apartment, planning even the most low-key of surprises can be quite a challenge.

My husband sneaked out while I was passed out on the sofa in the afternoon to buy a small cake, came back and hid it in the vegetable compartment of our fridge where I store all my Chinese tea.

But he left a tea canister out on the kitchen counter by accident and I would have spoiled the surprise had I not dumped it back into another part of the fridge instead.

As for my gift, he stashed it in the car parked downstairs in the apartment garage. I ordered his present online and picked up a small cupcake on the way home from the gym.

I hid the cupcake in plain sight. By the time it came to presenting it with a candle, the icing had melted into a sticky mess.

As we wished each other a happy anniversary, I blurted out something that was on my mind: "Wow, one year down, so many more years to go!''

I got a bemused look and a raised eyebrow, but he put it down to my lack of an internal monologue and we both laughed it off.

But I got to thinking about that accidental comment a little later and realised that as someone who is so used to working to tight deadlines, I often think about things in terms of their due-by-dates or shelf-life.

Feature due in one week, story due in an hour. The adrenalin kicks in, the brain juices flow, I give it my all and feel like I'm holding my breath until it's all finished. Full stop, press send, done!

Marriage, on the contrary, is one project that does not have a cut-off time. Ideally, it goes on until "death do us part''.

We had worked hard on our marriage in our first year, and would have to keep up the effort for a long, long time if we wanted to make it last.

I guess when I uttered that comment, I was coming into a full realisation of this fact.

In our first year, on the whole I'd say, we had managed to avoid the big blow-ups that sometimes occur when two very independent, different people are suddenly thrust into one life, one space.

Sure we had our spats, but they were mostly over small things such as who does what chores and, ahem, my incredibly high tolerance for messiness.

As time went on, we learned to pick our battles. There were so many instances that if we did not bite our tongues, hold back the sarcasm, push back the anger, a small irritation might have exploded into an ugly face-off.

And man, exercising self-control and self-restraint is hard work. And isn't it ironic? So often we treat loved ones worse than we would a total stranger, and it's because we know our dear ones will love and forgive us.

I'm not one to read self-help books, but I'm beginning to see marriage not as a marathon as some have described it, but more as a trek in the mountains.

The one marathon I ran in, I was in pain half of the time and the other half of the time I just wanted it to be over.

No, marriage is more like one of those long treks I've gone on in the highlands.

You proceed in stages, there are small milestones and highlights every so often that motivate you to keep going.

Sometimes it gets really tough, like when you're trudging up a steep mountain side. Your heart is thumping, your lungs are on fire, and your knees feel like they are going to give way.

But you go on, because you know that soon, your efforts will land you at the top of a mountain pass and the scenery will be so awesome you will forget all that labouring the minute you lay eyes on the misty hilltops in the distance.

Then there are times in marriage that feel like when you're walking through a monotonous, flat valley. There's no excitement, just one foot ahead of the other for hours.

Every couple goes through this, what I call the eat-in-silence-at-the-restaurant-table phase. You might not have had a meaningful discussion or conversation in weeks, you sleep at different times and take your meals separately.

But sooner rather than later, on the trek as in marriage, you turn a corner, climb another mountain, cross a river and hit another breathtaking scene. And the promise of something good and beautiful always gives you strength to carry on.

Hopefully I'll remember my own advice if we ever hit a valley, and step by step, the journey will get us to forever.

IN WASHINGTON

IN A  city that lives, breathes and sleeps politics, anything can have political consequences, even a snowstorm.

The blizzards that have hit the US capital have strained the city's ability to clear icy, snow-clogged roads. And many residents are fuming over the local government's less than efficient snow removal services.

Local officials are feeling the heat from residents who are trapped in their homes, some without power. DC Mayor Adrian Fenty, in particular, has been criticised for not doing enough to clear city streets blanketed by the snow and sleet left by last week's storm before the latest blizzard hit on Tuesday evening.

Over the weekend, my husband and I trudged around the city centre and saw uprooted trees, piles of snow and slush on the sidewalks but few signs of cleaning crews.

Mr Fenty has said that the city had busted its annual US$6.2 million snow removal budget weeks ago and promised to apply for emergency funds from the federal government.

He and local officials have been trying to show they are on top of things, while urging patience from residents.

The Washington Post summed up their snow dilemma nicely: "If officials overreact, their communities could become a national laughingstock...If they act too nonchalant, they risk alienating voters...If they handle it with aplomb, hardly anyone will notice because they will have done what is expected of them.''

But even with more money and resources, human effort may count for nothing if nature does not let up.

The bad conditions have made it treacherous for repair crews to restore power to parts of the city and neighbouring Maryland and Virginia that had suffered power outages. The icy roads have also proved too dangerous for snow-plough crews to work.

On Wednesday morning, I woke up to a complete whiteout. The latest blizzard had hammered the city through the night. The Washington DC area has received a jaw-dropping 54.9 inches of snow this winter season, making this the city's snowiest winter in a century.

The city has shut down completely. Schools, government offices, shops and restaurants are closed. Airports have cancelled flights. The metro has suspended above-ground services. Public buses have stopped running. People will not be receiving any mail or packages for a few days.

The city authorities say things will get back to normal only early next week.

Meanwhile, DC residents are hunkering down at home, and have stocked up on food and supplies as if in wartime.

My husband and I made several trips to the supermarket over the weekend to pick up some food. But when we got to a popular organic supermarket, we found the fresh produce shelves almost completely empty, something we've never seen since our move to the states last year.

It was an interesting peak into the American diet under duress. I did a quick mental survey. Yoghurt, cereals, steak, pork chops, chicken, sausages, cheese, scones, prepared salads, canned corn, canned soup, frozen pizza, soda: Gone.

I grabbed some tofu, bought some fresh fish and shrimp, and loaded up on pears. My husband snatched the last few available muffins for breakfast.

Bags filled, we pulled on our scarves, gloves and hoods and began our cold, slushy trek home.

FROM my apartment window, I watched the soft flakes falling gently but steadily. In a matter of hours, the grey street scene outside had disappeared under a blanket of glistening white.

Bundled up against the cold, staff from restaurants and shops emerged to playfully make giant snowmen on the sidewalks. Children let loose, creating their first snow angels of the season.

And young people, mobilised via Twitter, Facebook and other social networking sites, gathered on the street corner where I live for a spontaneous, neighbourhood snowball fight.

My husband and I joined in the fun, pelting each other and laughing as hundreds of our 20- and 30-something year old neighbours, standing on opposite sides of the street, cheerfully bombarded each other with fists of snow.

The blizzard that had hit Washington DC and many parts of northeastern United States was causing traffic and travel chaos, but for several hours on Saturday afternoon on the corner of 14th and U streets, young Washingtonians made the best of the weather and had a little winter fun.

Cars that drove past the action were also "attacked'' by the revellers who gleefully yelled "open window!'' before launching their volleys. Most of the motorists did not mind; some even made faces when a hit missed its mark.

But then one driver who was passing through had his vehicle "snowballed'' and minded very much indeed.

Abruptly the snowball fight stopped as a minor commotion broke out between some of the snowball fighters and the driver who had gotten out of his car.

"Get off the streets! Get off the streets now!'' the man was yelling. He was waving his arms and looked livid.

The snowball fighters responded with loud boos. Then a gasp ran through the crowd and people started to murmur: "He pulled a gun! Did you see his gun?''

Suddenly, a chant went up: "You don't bring a gun to a snowball fight!'' Snowballers whipped out their video cameras and mobile phones to record the confrontation.

Soon, several police cars showed up and the fun was broken up.

Later in the day, we found that footage of the snowball fight and the face-off was all over the Internet.

The detective who pulled the gun is the man wearing the black jacket over a cream sweater on the right -- detective Michael Baylor as identified by the Washington Post.
ST PHOTO: -- CHUA CHIN HON

The next day, our neighbourhood snowball fight made the national news. The story about how an angry driver who turned out to be a plainclothes detective had pulled a gun on snowballers was covered by the major television news networks and made it to the Washington Post with links to online videos of the incident.

Police initially denied that the detective had flashed his weapon. But on Sunday, the officer was placed on desk duty after Twitter, blogs and YouTube appeared to show otherwise, reported the Washington Post.

The paper identified the officer as Detective Michael Baylor, who has some three decades of experience on the force - a fact that is all the more disturbing as you would have thought a veteran police officer would have judged the situation appropriately and exercised more restraint.

Having been there and witnessed the event, I can say that it was an over-reaction on the part of the officer. I did not see any kind of provocation or threat that warranted the use of force or weapons.

In fact, thinking back, I realised how dangerous the situation was and how it could have ended badly because the crowd had initially no idea the man wielding the gun was a police officer.

DC police said they were still investigating the incident but Police Chief Cathy L. Lanier issued a statement on Monday admitting that it was "very obvious" that detective Baylor had pulled his weapon in response to snowballs striking his vehicle, a maroon Hummer.

"Let me be very clear in stating that I believe the actions of the officer were totally inappropriate!" chief Lanier said in the statement. "In no way, should he have handled the situation in this manner. We have taken swift action by placing him on non-contact status until all the facts are gathered and discipline is handed down."

Faced with serious crime and gun violence in parts of DC, police in the city have to be tough and on their toes all the time.

But having the right to bear arms comes with a huge responsibility. Any abuse of that right should not be brushed off lightly.

Law enforcement officers are tasked with protecting civilians, and while they carry out their duties, they must be careful not to represent the worst of America's gun-happy culture.

In this case, well-flung snowballs may sting a little, but cause no more harm than that.

IN THE few hours it took the tenacious US media to dig up the identity of the gunman who went on a shooting spree at the US army base at Fort Hood, Texas on Thursday, I found myself running through different kinds of scenarios in my head.

Could it have been an outside attack, similar to the recent one staged against the Pakistani army camp by militants? Maybe a disgruntled former employee or soldier. Perhaps, a protester upset about US war mongering, or even a training exercise gone awry.

Rightly or wrongly, I stopped wondering when I heard the alleged perpetrator's name read out on television: Nidal Malik Hasan.

I found myself making certain assumptions based on what I have read in the media about the devastating activities of the few radical individuals that shared his religion.

My next thought was worry about a possible backlash on moderate Muslims in the US and around the world.

I also felt a wave of disappointment that another isolated act of violence had once again unraveled efforts by Muslims and non-Muslims to dispel misunderstandings about the teachings of Islam and reduce inter-ethnic distrust and suspicion.

Moving to curtail an explosive situation, President Barrack Obama and investigators called immediately for caution, warning the public not to speculate on Hasan's motive.

The Army said it was looking into whether Hasan, an army psychiatrist, had snapped under the pressure of his job counselling thousands of war-weary troops, or because of mistreatment, or was motivated by deeper convictions.

It was against this backdrop that I was disturbed to see a top cable news network, a day after the shooting, air a television story about a radical Muslim group, made up of American citizens, preaching hate on the streets of New York.

The reporter behind the story had been working on the report for some time but editors obviously saw the connection to the shooting at Fort Hood and chose to run it, linking it to the murderous rampage.

The story opened with a screen capture of the group’s homepage where members described Hasan as "an officer and a gentleman" and proclaimed "we love you".

It went on to show one-on-one interviews with two members of the group, both American citizens.

One said the Quran, Islam's holy book, commanded him to "terrorise" non believers, to strike fear in them so that they would not commit crime.

The other proclaimed that he "loved Osama bin Laden" more than he loves himself. He called President Obama a "scumbag'' and added he would not shed a tear if Mr Obama was killed.

The group had been actively recruiting outside New York city's biggest mosque, where moderate Muslims go to worship, shouting their incendiary messages and passing out pamphlets, according to the TV footage.

In other countries, such as Britain, they would be breaking the law for inciting racial hatred. But in the US, they are shielded by the first amendment to the US constitution which protects the freedom of speech, press, religion, assembly and petition.

While I admire the principles behind the first amendment and what they stand for, I questioned the appropriateness of showing that story, especially so soon after the shooting.

Would it not have further anguished the families of the fallen soldiers to see, albeit a small group of, fellow Americans celebrating the man who just murdered their loved ones?

Also, with public emotions running high, would it not have been better to wait to show that story, instead of risking the possibility that it could incite and inflame viewers?

Already, the Internet here is buzzing with renewed Islamaphobia. Right-wing websites are calling the shooting a "Jihad at Fort Hood?" and a "Terrorist Incident in Texas".

In Singapore, we have strong laws and policies to guard against anything that would rock the inter-racial and ethnic harmony the country has worked so hard to achieve.

I am more convinced than ever that they are there for a good reason and should be upheld and protected whatever the criticisms.

Meanwhile, in America, an old wound has been ripped opened once again, and it remains to be seen how well or quickly it will heal this time.

Read more about the Fort Hood incident:
Counsellor 'needed help'
Motive of shooter probed
Obama to attend memorial

Editor's note: The spelling of amendment has been fixed.

IN FEBRUARY of 2005, I arrived in Beijing carrying an old, beat-up suitcase containing little more than two weeks’ worth of clothes and an English-Chinese dictionary.

It was my first time in China and everything felt foreign – the cold, harsh winter; the sprawling, chaotic city with road signs in Chinese; and most of all, the thick Beijing accent which made me wonder if the locals were speaking Mandarin at all.

I had come to China to remedy a mistake I made during my school years in Singapore — that of not recognising the benefits of being bilingual.

I had just enough Chinese so that I wouldn’t starve and could ask for directions if I got lost.

I was determined to fix this. I set myself a goal – at the end of my five-month school term, I would return to Singapore having learnt enough to hold a proper conversation in Chinese.

I ended up staying four years in China, working for the past 3 ½ years at the paper’s Beijing bureau. And I learned more about the country than just a few phrases in Chinese.

I feel more at home in Beijing than I do in Singapore, and have noticed that China has changed me in subtle ways – I drink tea made from loose Chinese tea leaves more than I do water every day; my jaywalking would impress a dare-devil, and on occasion, I even dream in Chinese.

Now, I am down to my last few days in this thriving, thumping city; and I am finding it hard to let go.

For all its flaws and shortcomings – pollution, corruption, censorship, just to name a few – China has also been where I have seen examples of true grit, spirit and courage, some qualities that define the best of humanity.

Many ethnic Chinese across the globe felt their chests puff up with pride watching the 2008 Beijing Olympics on television, when China put on a show and reaped a medal haul that surpassed all expectations.

My own personal heroes, however, lived far from the stunning Bird’s Nest stadium in Beijing, in ramshackle farm houses and in humble, dimly-lit apartments.

There is Dr Gao Yaojie, an octogenarian and a grandmother of three who has devoted the last two decades of her life speaking out on the behalf of Aids sufferers in China when no one else dared to.

When she was in her late 60s, she was instrumental in shedding light on official complicity in the spread of Aids in central Henan province where she resides.

In the 1990s, thousands of poor farmers there were infected with HIV, the virus that causes the acquired immune deficiency syndrome, in state-sanctioned blood-selling schemes.

I barged in on her apartment in Zhengzhou city at 9pm in the evening just as she was about to retire for the night.

She rose from her sofa and spent the next two hours showing me pictures of sufferers and their dismal living conditions, telling me stories of sufferers ostracised by their communities because of the stigma, and how she would fight until her last breath for her chosen cause.

At the end of our conversation, she gamely posed for pictures, leaning her chin coquettishly on the palm of her hand. I couldn’t resist, and took a picture with her.

She probably does not remember me, but I glance at that photograph often. It is the only picture I have on my office wall.

Then there is Mr Tang Xingfu, a farmer who lives in Minqin, a county in hardscrabble Gansu province at risk of being swallowed up by fast encroaching deserts.

I chanced upon Mr Tang along a dusty village road and found unexpected hospitality in a harsh land. I was in Minqin for an assignment to see how climate change had worsened desertification in the area.

He showed me into his house, bade me sit and offered me a big soup bowl full of water. In parched Minqin, that bowl of water from his family's well was the equivalent of someone offering their guest a prized vintage wine from their cellar.

We have kept in touch through the years, sending each other messages at Chinese New Year.

I also found a friend in Mr Ma Junhe, 28, a Minqin native who together with other concerned locals formed an environmental NGO to try to save their home town from disappearing under the shifting sands.

Mr Ma and another young “greenie’’ I befriended, Mr Xiang Chun, an unassuming 29-year-old based in southwest Chongqing municipality, are just two of a growing community of young people battling to right their country’s environmental wrongs.

They have chosen to devote themselves to environmental causes while their peers are off pursuing other more lucrative careers.

I travelled with Xiang Chun for almost two weeks up and down the Yangzte River for a story on the Three Gorges dam. I could see how he loved his home and nature, and how much he wanted the problems of pollution and forced migration fixed.

Then there are my fearless local Christian friends who have kept up their faith despite the restrictions placed on believers by the Chinese government.

Quietly, they help the homeless, visit orphans, teach at schools for children of migrant workers and raise funds to pay medical bills for the sick. Without fanfare or thought of reward, they do their best to reach out to those who have fallen through the cracks.

And of course, there are the people of Sichuan, whose hearts will bleed for their dead loved ones for many years to come.

Through them, I have seen the depth of grief, and the height of tenacity and fortitude.

Many escaped last year’s earthquake with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. They are now slowly rebuilding their homes and lives, one brick at a time.

They have all moved and inspired me more than they will ever know.

China will forever have a special place in my heart for a more personal reason. A few months back, my fiancé proposed to me in a quiet corner of the Forbidden City in the heart of Beijing.

He had to keep his proposal short though, China after all, is the most populated country on the planet and there is no such thing as privacy. We managed to dodge the tourist crowd but not a cleaner who gave us curious looks while sweeping up leaves nearby.

Years ago, at my graduation ceremony, the chancellor of my university threw down a challenge to the class of ’99, a motley crew of restless, idealistic young people.

Go out there, he urged, and make a difference.

In China, I have met people who have certainly tried to do just that, and are still fighting to bring about a positive change.

In my time here, I feel privileged to have been able to tell a few of their stories.

TOUGH times in China call for desperate, and sometimes  very creative, measures.

Millions of university graduates are on the hunt for work in an increasingly tight job market and some have thought up innovative ways to stand out from the rest and catch the eye of prospective employers.

Fifteen mathematics students from the graduating class of the North China University of Technology in Beijing have put themselves up for auction on popular online auction site Taobao.com, state media reported on Thursday.

The 15 "auction items" posted their photos and resumes on the site, which is known as the Chinese version of Ebay. Their bidding prices ranged from 2,000 yuan to 3,000 yuan.

"The price is our expected monthly pay," said Wang Danke one of the 15 students and who set up the "online store". "We'd like to 'sell' ourselves with our wit."

Of the 33 students in his class graduating this year, 24 are looking for jobs. Seven have gone on to postgraduate study. Only two have offers from prospective employers, Xinhua reported, quoting Mr Wang.

With more than 6 million new graduates entering the job market this year, and some 2 million graduates from last year who are still seeking work, competition for employment is intense.

Job fairs are swamped and graduates are resorting to taking any sort of work available, be it working as nannies or heading to rural villages to be officials or teachers.

Beijing has called on employers and companies to create positions for graduates. The government has also urged students to be more flexible about what kind of work they accept, encouraging them to take up jobs in smaller companies, in fields different from their specialties, or to start their own businesses.

However, it remains to be seen if graduates will be willing to take up jobs dealing with the dead in a country where death is still considered taboo.

Yesterday, Shanghai media reported that the city's funeral industry would be holding its first ever job fair to recruit college students, offering 400 posts. More than 20 funeral parlors and cemeteries will be at the fair, with vacancies for office staff, funeral planners and technical jobs, such as make-up experts.

Jobs on offer will pay around 3,000 yuan a month, 300 yuan higher than the average salary for new graduates in the city. Industry insiders told The Shanghai Daily that they hoped the students would "love the job and not just take it for the money."

As for the Taobao students, Mr Wang said their decision to turn to the Internet was because they wanted to raise their profile.

"Most of the time, all employers know about you is what's on your resume, which is just one more piece of paper in a pile," he told Xinhua. "After four years of hard study, our classmates feel like a bumper crop of oranges, with no one giving a bite."

"My class is a class of elites: basketball captain, Olympic volunteer, versatile painter, and backbones of the student union," Wang's ad on the website proclaimed. "We just need a chance."

Their auction was suspended for three days in mid-March after Taobao.com became concerned about the possible illegal use of personal information. Mr Wang and his classmates had to provide notarised authorisations, Xinhua reported.

"We have confirmed with the students and their university that this is truly a method of job-hunting," Mr Zhao Jingpeng of Taobao’s consumer service department told Xinhua. "We decided to make an exception to our rules, given the tough employment situation."

Their publicity stunt looks to have paid off. Mr Wang said his classmates were interviewed by headhunters on Tuesday, who said they "admired the students' energy to act."

Others however, are not so lucky.

The local press reported a sad story earlier this week - of an out of work graduate who resorted to robbery in order to get money for a train ticket home to see his sick father.

After graduating, the student surnamed Wang headed to Beijing for work in 2007 but lost his job last October. He was too ashamed to tell the relatives that he was staying with so he put up an act by leaving the house early every morning and returning only late at night. He passed his time at a library in Beijing, said reports.

Recently, he received word from his family that his father was seriously ill. Broke and too embarrassed to ask his relatives for money, he resorted to robbing a female passer-by at the Beijing west railway station at knifepoint.

He was apprehended by other passers-by and turned over to the police.

When they recovered the stolen handbag, the police found that there was only 4 yuan and a mineral water bottle inside.

CHINA'S annual parliamentary session, or Lianghui, is known for its long speeches, dry reports and marathon group discussions where delegates flag their unwavering support for government policies.

But away from all the serious business, there are interesting, and sometimes comic, sideshows that take place every year on the steps and along the corridors of Beijing's Great Hall of the People.

First and most intriguing, there is what I call the Lianghui beauty pageant.

When not snapping important officials, gear-laden photographers go on the prowl for Lianghui "mei nu", which means "beauties" in Chinese.

They survey the crowd and then pounce when they spot attractive female delegates, pretty journalists, and even the tall, leggy female working staff who are given the job of welcoming and directing delegates, holding signboards and pouring tea.

The photographs usually end up online on the various news portals. Feast your eyes on a few "mei nu" journalists : http://news.163.com/09/0308/08/53SBL58P000120GU.html and http://lady.163.com/09/0305/17/53LL7M0V002626K2.html and http://pic.people.com.cn/GB/42589/8905965.html

Then, there is the search for the best, most impressive costume competition.

Once again, photographers display skill, strength and dexterity as they run through the crowd bearing ladders and heavy lenses, to snap pictures of ethnic minority delegates dressed in elaborate traditional garb.

All of China's 55 official minority groups are represented at the meeting, from Tibetans and Muslim Uyghurs to Manchus from northeastern Heilongjiang. Some boast intricate head dresses, others turn heads in bright, eye-catching dresses complete with sequins and bangles and make for great pictures.

Apart from these, there is what I consider the death scrum for journalists.

It goes something like this: an important delegate shows up, 50 journalists spot him, all run at once, surrounding and swarming him like a pack of hungry wolves – and all for a throwaway quote or two.

From afar, the huddle looks like a large multi-legged organism, with TV cameras and lenses held overhead and trained on the poor, captive delegate trapped in the middle of a six-person deep scrum.

Sounds fun? More like dangerous - there have been occasions when journalists have been seen on the ground cradling their heads or whichever body part got hit or crushed in the squeeze.

Reporters also star in other light moments during the Lianghui.

Half way through last Friday’s designated hour-long press conference with Guangdong Governor Huang Huahua, reporters started to get desperate.

To get picked to ask the next question, a few resorted to standing up and wildly waving their raised hands, while some tried to intercept the microphones that working staff were passing on to reporters who had been selected to speak.

Some others started to shout out requests from the floor that journalists from Hong Kong / Taiwan / Macau / overseas, should be given a chance to pose a question.

One female reporter was so excited to be picked by the conference's host, that she shot up from her seat asking "Is it me? Is it me?" and started to ask her question without waiting for the microphone, prompting laughter from others in the packed hall.

The press conference eventually ran over by half an hour, but that was still not enough for some journalists who chased Mr Huang as he fled the room.

One exasperated Guangdong-based reporter remarked to me as she ran after them: "There has to be a more effective way of doing this!"

I nodded my agreement as I took a deep breath, switched on my tape recorder and plunged headlong into the mass of bodies.

YOU can run but you can't hide.

Well, not for long anyway. Not when there are millions of aggressive, enthusiastic, incredibly Internet-savvy Chinese netizens hunting you down.

China now boasts the largest online community in the world, surpassing the United States with more than 250 million online users registered. They are active in forums, chat rooms and are avid bloggers. They wield powerful influence, and as a single, massive entity can apply tremendous pressure.

It's become a phenomenon known as the human flesh search engine. This kicks into operation when a multitude of netizens decide someone has committed a heinous act, track him online and then hunt him down in real life.

Criticism by Chinese netizens, for example, prompted one of Chengdu city's richest property developers to apologise for his small donation to the earthquake relief fund and increase it by more than tenfold.

A woman who uploaded a video of herself grounding her heel into a cat's head, for example, received abusive phonecalls and emails. She was so vilified online that she was forced to quit her job and issue a public apology.

But, as the Beijing Olympics is showing, the human flesh search engine can also be activated for a good cause.

During last Friday's Beijing Olympics Opening Ceremony, a Chinese dancer fainted, prompting three foreigners to rush to her aid.

The picture of them carrying the dancer has become the talk of China's online community for its depiction of the true spirit of the Olympics, said the English Language China Daily. Thousands have expressed their gratitude to the unidentified foreigners online.

In another case of "goodwill hunting'', thousands of netizens are trying to help track down the father of Olympic 10m air pistol shooting champion Guo Wenjun.

She was abandoned by her father at the age of 14, and when she won the gold medal for her event on Sunday, she said she hoped that the victory might lead to a reunion with her father.

Let's see if the human flesh search engine can rise to these Olympian tasks.